Pip: The Basis for Sherlock
by yogurtcoveredpretzels
Summary: New ending for Great Expectations, starts the night before Joe and Biddy's wedding. Pip is young Arthur Conan Doyle's first role model, who later bases the Sherlock character off of him.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing! (and the people who own these characters are dead)**

* * *

_To come the night before Biddy and Joe's wedding._

Later that night I woke to the sound of knocking on my door. Blearily, I opened it, to reveal a stricken Wemmick with a paper in hand.

"It's Biddy," he said, "and Joe says he needs you."

I rushed to dress myself, and made no attempt to straighten my hair in my haste. I had let Joe down in the past but I would not do it again. My mind had not even been able to process Biddy's death, but Joe needing me was very real and cut through the confusion and horror. Joe needed me, so it was my duty to attend to him at once. I caught a carriage in a haze, and was at the door of my childhood home before I registered that _Biddy_ was _dead_. Seconds after I knocked, I realized I had no idea what to say, or any inklings of what one could or should say in a situation such as this.

Joe cracked open the door, saw through the darkness that it was me, and slowly pulled it open the rest of the way. His eyes were bloodshot and his entire person seemed to be tearstained. I felt that it was good I had come so soon or he certainly would have drowned. I laid my hand on Joe's shoulder, unsure how to begin. To my surprise, when he started speaking, his voice and words were fueled by rage instead of sorrow.

"Them boys found her dead on edge of town just the night before we was supposed to be married. Cuts on her neck so we know'd she was murdered, but there ain't anyone who knows who done it," he almost growled, but then collapsed into tears so I let the poor fellow cry on me.

Suddenly, he straightened up, and took my face in his hands. "Pip, my boy, you has an education, hasn't you? You's a very smart boy, Pip?" Joe looked at me, as if for confirmation, so I nodded my head. Heartened, Joe wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Pip," he pleaded, "Can you do something for me? 'Ever the best of friends; ain't us?' (Dickens 435)." I nodded, more emphatically this time.

"Anything for you, Joe."

A single tear slid down his cheek and dripped off the end of his nose. His face started to harden. "Find whoever done this. For me, and for Biddy. I know'd you can." I, however, was doubtful of my ability to help, but it would not have been particularly reassuring to tell Joe this. I resolved to try and thus replied as such, which I accompanied with a short nod. I would do my utmost to fulfill Joe's request.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, please review! It would mean so much to me :)**


	2. Chapter 2

After helping Joe plan Biddy's modest funeral that would occur in a few days, I started investigating the murder. I was baffled by the thought of someone wishing ill upon poor, kind Biddy, much less murdering her. Biddy with "strong hands, a quiet tongue, and a gentle heart" (Dickens 265). From this I got the notion that it would be best to first discover who harbored any ill feelings towards her, so I knew who might have the motive to commit such a cruel act. I first went to London to pay a visit to Wemmick in his Castle, so that I might deliver the most recent news and perhaps receive some words of advice.

As I disembarked from the carriage onto the busy streets, a young boy caught my eye. He was around the age of nine, and this, in combination with the curiosity and innocence in his eyes, reminded me of myself before visiting the Satis House.

"Arthur Conan Doyle," he declared, sticking his hand out towards me, "I'm staying in London with my Uncle over summer break. Do you need someone to do odd jobs for you, sir? My Uncle says I need to make myself useful or I'll end up a good-for-nothing drunk like my father and my wife will have to send my children to boarding schools during the year and relatives during the summer or she'll drown in debt."

I almost laughed at the poor fellow who had no idea that he had said anything wrong or improper. Pitying him, I shook Arthur's hand quite formally.

"Pip, " I introduced myself, "and I would be glad of some help. Would you like to help me investigate a murder?"

His eyes lit up with excitement as he cried, "Oh yes please!" but then he quickly regained composure and managed to stutter out, "Y-yes please, sir, I would l-love to help you, I'll b-be the b-best assistant and write everything d-down for you, I swear."

And so it was arranged, and we strolled down the streets of London together, ready to accomplish anything.

* * *

**sorry that this one is short- don't worry, there's more to come! please keep reading and reviewing, I love you guys! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Unfortunately, Wemmick had nothing of importance to tell us, but he did appreciate the update on the calamitous situation. He was utterly charmed by Arthur, and encouraged him to continue his confidence and curiosity. We left after a nice meal and a good deal of nodding at Aged, to stay at my lodgings for the night. Arthur did not comment on the state of my flat, but it happened to be "a most dismal place; the skylight eccentrically patched like a broken head, and the distorted adjoining houses looking as if they had twisted themselves to peep down at me through it" (Dickens 152).

In the morning, I brought my new companion to the marshes to meet Joe and to begin the daunting task set before us. Joe was in the middle of a discussion with Mr. Trabb, whom had last night come home from visiting his sister in northern London, about the last minute touches to the service. Both greeted Arthur warmly, then Mr. Trabb told his boy to show us where Biddy had been found, which he did reluctantly.

"I suppose that now that she's dead, we won't be needing to go to school," he bragged, "Maybe we should all thank whoever killed her." Arthur and I exchanged glances. Trabb's boy was the only person so far who had a motive to harm poor Biddy. He left, and Arthur assisted me in scouring the site for evidence. He wrote down a description of the entire scene, even going so far as to count the number of rocks and classify them as rounded or sharp. After many hours yielding no results, he accidentally dropped his pen into a puddle. While fishing it out with his hand, he scooped up an ordinate ring. It was beyond us why the owner of this portable property would leave it in a puddle, as it was obviously very expensive. We decided to walk back to town and try to find the owner of the ring, hoping it was connected to the murder.

When we returned to Joe, he was working in the forge, and Mr. Trabb had already departed. I inquired about the owner of the ring, and Joe recognized it immediately as Mr. Pumblechook's. This troubled me, for it meant that Mr. Pumblechook was a suspect, and I already was mistrustful of him. Arthur and I did not confide our suspicions to Joe, because we felt it would simply unnecessarily excited the dear man, and we could be quite wrong in the meantime.

We went to bed satisfied that we had a productive day, pleased that we had our first leads, and confident that we would solve the case in hardly any time at all.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! :) Please review 3**


End file.
